...And in front of the other
Yesterday was a rough day, gang, and so was today. Largely due to Day Job nonsense that I probably should not discuss at length. Only to say that I feel slightly like a junior naturalist, observing how different people respond to unexpected problems. Some people freeze up. Some people make ill-advised phone calls to yell at the people who freeze up. Behold the multifarious splendors of human nature, such as it is!
However, in the interests of chronicling the inevitable cycle of getting knocked down, and then getting up again* I'm writing this post. I've done some venting and some panicking and now I am going to read the Pratchett I started last night, and work on some art for the print shop I am hoping to open eventually.
Also, I'll give you some words, brought on by mild irritation at a joke that didn't quite work in the Pratchett (it's an early one):
The polymath statesman Even Cabbages won his name after taking up a challenge from a rival poet to wax lyrical on the subject of the aforementioned vegetables. He wrote seven sonnets, followed by sixteen haiku and a pair of sestinas, extolling the humble cabbage with such skill that their price shot up immediately, as local aesthetes rushed to acquire cabbages of their own. Several lesser poets (including the rival who'd started the whole thing) attempted verses to cabbages themselves, but it is generally agreed that their poems were, in the words of one literary critic, "like something written by the kind of person who thinks it's easy to write humorous poetry."
And now you know as much about Even Cabbages as I do.
(though I'm sorely tempted to throw him into another story, like the fantasyland pamphleteer or the shepherdess-and-enchanted-snake-maiden)
*I regret nothing.
However, in the interests of chronicling the inevitable cycle of getting knocked down, and then getting up again* I'm writing this post. I've done some venting and some panicking and now I am going to read the Pratchett I started last night, and work on some art for the print shop I am hoping to open eventually.
Also, I'll give you some words, brought on by mild irritation at a joke that didn't quite work in the Pratchett (it's an early one):
The polymath statesman Even Cabbages won his name after taking up a challenge from a rival poet to wax lyrical on the subject of the aforementioned vegetables. He wrote seven sonnets, followed by sixteen haiku and a pair of sestinas, extolling the humble cabbage with such skill that their price shot up immediately, as local aesthetes rushed to acquire cabbages of their own. Several lesser poets (including the rival who'd started the whole thing) attempted verses to cabbages themselves, but it is generally agreed that their poems were, in the words of one literary critic, "like something written by the kind of person who thinks it's easy to write humorous poetry."
And now you know as much about Even Cabbages as I do.
(though I'm sorely tempted to throw him into another story, like the fantasyland pamphleteer or the shepherdess-and-enchanted-snake-maiden)
*I regret nothing.